


The Enemy of My Enemy (is something like a lover)

by neonbees



Series: Sylvix Week '19 [3]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Cultural Differences, Enemies to Lovers, Gautier is not part of Faerghus, M/M, Not Beta Read, Sreng!Sylvain, assholes to lovers, yes i spent too much time thinking about life in sreng
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2020-12-21 12:43:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21075095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neonbees/pseuds/neonbees
Summary: By itself, Fraldarius cannot stand against Cornelia's Faerghus Dukedom.An alliance with Warlord Gautier, ruling clan of Sreng, would add much needed numbers to their cause.An alliance best solidified through marriage.Sylvix Week Day 5- Arranged Marriage / Enemies to Lovers / Tears





	1. Chapter 1

Fraldarius territory is not where Felix wants to be. Not in the least. There’s constant fighting on the frontlines against the Adrestian empire. There’s revolt in the capital, with Cornelia at its head- and instead he is here. In his ancestral home. Not fighting.

Rodrigue- Felix will not give him the honor of his title in his mind- is at the capital. Dimitri’s trial is  
soon. The boar has been accused of murdering his Uncle. If the Regent had anything to do with Edelgard, with his brother’s death, then Felix can believe it. He can still see Dimitri’s face as he rushed Edelgard. He can still hear his cruel laughter, the vicious delight. 

He hates it. He hates that Rodrigue has left him with organizing what’s left of their armies as he rushes in to save the prince. 

Things get worse. 

Felix receives word of the trial. The boar- no, in death, he is Dimitri - has been executed. He is angry at his very bones, a rage that has his hands shaking and training till his palms crack. Rodrigue returns with Gilbert. Annette’s father and his own, and all their conversations discuss the prince. 

They hadn’t seen his body. There was a chance that he’d made an escape. They’d heard rumors of a Duscur fugitive killed for attacking the prison. They’d heard rumors that it had been a successful break-in before he was killed.  
Rodrigue and Gilbert discuss the best and prepare for the worst. 

Fitting, he thinks. The leash Dimitri had thrown on Dedue choked him in the end. Felix throws himself into training and he tries not to think of his last weeks at the monastery, where he did much the same. Dedue and Dimitri alongside him. 

Things get worse.

Cornelia allies directly with the empire. The Faerghus Dukedom, she calls the kingdom now. The land to the west is turbulent. She has control of some nobility, but the peasantry are neglected. Reports of Bandits and farmers turned vigilant grow. Suffering is everywhere. 

Felix is still here. He is trapped, a fighter with a cause and no means. He thinks the only way things can get worse is if he is never sent out to fight. Organize the troops, and so he does. He trains them until they cannot move. But it is a physical need to test his blade against his enemies. When the song of blood fills his head, he doesn’t need to think. To feel. 

He doesn’t need to wonder if there was another path. If in a different time, something might have changed. 

There is no use in those thoughts. 

Rodrigue calls him to his office soon. Finally, Felix thinks. He’s been waiting for this. “It’s taken time, but everything has been arranged now. Felix-” Rodrigue softens, and there is an apology written into the lines of his face. He wonders what could be enough to make his father weak. Perhaps it was an understanding, for how cruel it was to request him to stay here? When he could be fighting? Rodrigue cares not for Felix’s feelings or thoughts, and he continues, “I have organized an alliance with Sreng. If you recall Warlord Gautier- we negotiated for Sreng to lend aid and soldiers. It’s a more formal version of the one we signed with them in the past. With this, we will only have the West to worry about. Any ally against Cornelia is useful.” 

“A great victory,” Felix scoffs, bitterness on his tongue. Was that why his father was apologetic? Keeping him from fighting to be a diplomat? But it seemed everything was already set. “At what cost to us? More of the Fraldarius territory? Will you be taking some of Blaiddyd in return?” 

“After a fortnight, you and the Warlord’s son are to be married.”

“What. No. I refuse.” Rage overwhelms his vision, so hot and burning he cannot speak. It is chased by a little bit of helplessness. The feeling seeps into his heart. This is not a problem he can solve with a sword. It is not something that can be resolved with more training. 

“Felix, there is little choice in this matter. My hands are tied. To suffer repeated attacks from the North and the West- and the East? We would be torn. Suffering would be immense.” 

“Why not another?” Felix asks, because right now, there is nothing else. His hand clenches around the sword at his waist. 

Rodrigue’s face softens again, and Felix wants to spit. “Our original treaty was between Lambert, Sagan, and myself…. Sreng is a vicious nation. Sagan Gautier’s strength and brutality is all that hold the nation together. They - he - respect strength.”

And so, by taking Felix, they are showing their dominance over Rodrigue. Lambert has already shown his weakness in death. Felix wishes he didn’t understand. 

He wants to say that he is leaving- he can run away, join the fight by himself, a rogue mercenary- but the words taste of ashes in his mouth. His father is desperately holding onto a kingdom tearing apart. Dimitri, even fallen, is more important. Felix is always the second son. 

“I would be more use in battle,” he says, but it is not an argument. He knows one swordsman - no matter how good he may be- cannot turn the tides of war. Even their professor- no. There is no use in the past. “Will I still be able to fight?”

“That will be a decision between you and heir Gautier. But knowing Sreng- war is more than a necessity to them. It is a way of life.”

“Hmmph. You said it would be a fortnight until the wedding? When shall I meet the groom to be?”

“The wedding party from Sreng will arrive three days before the wedding.”

“Fine,” he finds himself saying, “But before that, let me help with the war effort. I want to fight.” Especially with the unknown of the future- he wanted some concrete worth he could make.

“With this, you will be.”

Felix scowls, and leaves the room. But he saw his father’s expression. He’ll find him something before the Sreng emissaries arrive. 

It is exactly a week and a day when Felix returns. There had been an Imperial raid on the border- most of his time had been spent journeying. But it had felt good to do more than write letters and organize Fraldarius men. He was most useful alone, a one man army with his blade. 

Felix recognizes the obvious signs of trampled grass around his family’s home when he arrives. It is fairly fresh, and it must have belonged to some number of horses- this, he assumes, must be the wedding party. His husband.

He goes to return his own steed to the stables, the beast in need of rest from his own journey. What he finds is the place overcrowded, and with two strangers besides. They are like nothing he’d ever seen. 

There hadn’t been any raids from Sreng since the last treaty his father had signed. Felix had no chance before this to see what one of its people might look like- he fits his imagination with the image in front of him.

One man, broad of shoulder and with a shock of flame red hair, stands tall, guiding the horses with a practiced hand. Felix’s first thought is that he is gaudy. His second is that he is handsome. The clothes he is wearing are brightly colored, a clash of reds and greens and golds. They are undone in the top, and his wide sleeves are pushed back. Felix can see the lines of red ink spiraling around his forearms, disappearing up his biceps. 

The woman is wearing something much more plain, suitable for a war, Felix thinks. It is also more recognizable, a cavalry woman’s outfit. Her hair is short and braided, and it reminds him a little bit of Ingrid. 

He wants to know more. Besides, he was already late- Rodrigue would no doubt be disappointed. A little more would not hurt. 

He carefully steps closer. If his horse does not give him away, he will buy her the finest sugar. So far, they have not noticed him, and Felix catches their conversation. 

“-can’t believe we’re actually here. I’d have thought your father would want you married to one of the clans. Haven’t the Frostfoots been giving you trouble?”

“Ah, you see Adira, why would he settle for a territory when he could have a kingdom. You know he’s greedy. Now I’ll be tied to one of the downsiders. You know I’ll be fielding off jabs about that for months! Whatever will I do? ”

“It might stop Veer from crawling into your bed,” the woman replies. 

“Oh, I don’t think so. Veer wants to get her line into the blood so bad she’d do anything. Hells- I bet she’d even go after my little wife-to-be. Maybe both at the same time? I think I could be into that, actually.”

The woman slaps his shoulder, but that doesn’t help with the revulsion Felix is feeling. He has a guess to who this man is now. 

“Dog-brain. Doesn’t your father want you to abide by the Fodlan rules of propriety- you cannot have this marriage ruined with your lusts.” 

“My dearest, why would you ever think so low of me- And you know we’re not even going to be inked.” The man makes a motion to his arms, “Our vows will be made in paint, if you believe it. Fraldarius doesn’t have a clan symbol, my father says. So there’s no point in having it written into me. You know he’s…” the man falls silent. “Well. I hope this Felix is going to be good to bed.” 

Because everything is a disaster, Felix’s horse chooses this moment to whinny impatiently stomping her hoof. The man turns and his weapon is drawn in the same moment, Felix’s sword meeting the iron head of a lance. 

“Oh, looks like we’ve got ourselves a little mouse-” 

“Sylvain, aren’t you supposed to be polite?” 

There’s a name to his face now. Sylvain. If Felix had to guess, his last name would be Gautier. He withdraws his lance, leaning on it with such arrogance. Felix doesn’t put away his blade, though he does tilt the tip down. 

“Good reflexes, by the way,” Sylvain offers with a grin. “If you’re a stablehand, then I’d say they’re excellent. But with your sword- a returning soldier, perhaps? We’re here to report to-” he tilts his head, “_Duke_ Rodrigue? If I have that right.” 

Felix already hates him. And, if he’s correct, he’ll be marrying this man. At least, he thinks, Sylvain is good with the lance. He could feel the man’s strength when their weapons connected. He won’t be devoid of a sparring partner, maybe. 

Sylvain hopes he will be good to bed- Felix has a gauge of this man’s character, and he does not like what he sees. Optimism is not for him, Felix decides. “I can take you to Duke Rodrigue. I was going to see him myself.” 

He isn’t washed, he’s freshly off a horse, and he still has his riding outfit on. Rodrigue is having him married to this. He can deal with a little bit of muck. It isn’t as if Sylvain is dressed formally either- His stupid top reveals much of his chest.

The group of them enter into the great hall. Sylvain and the woman, Adira, walk behind Felix. He’s not sure if he likes them behind him, but there’s not much he can do. He can feel their gazes on his back. Rodrigue, sitting at the head of the hall, stands to greet them. There are a few others already in the hall- Felix would assume other warriors of Sreng. None of them have a hair color to match Sylvain, he notes. 

“Felix, my son. I see you are already welcoming the Heir Gautier. We are happy to receive you in this hall. Let me extend my hearth and hall to you all for this stay.” 

Felix stands to the side, now at the front of the hall. He can see Sylvain’s face better. Gage his future husband’s reaction. Sylvain’s looking at him, he can see, though he avoids eye contact. He can still feel it well enough- Sylvain stares at him like he is trying to take him apart. 

“I’m delighted to be here as well,” Sylvain begins, and his tone is very different than the rough measure of it Felix had heard before. There’s little trace of accent now, and his demeanor oozes with an assured charm. “To be the one to bring Sreng and Faerghus together… It is truly an honor. Uniting our lines is the truest gesture of respect between our two nations. I stand in my father’s stead for these negotiations, and I speak with his authority. Where Sreng and Faerghus unite, the Empire will fall.”

“We look forward to working with you. Heir Gautier, after you and your people are settled in, you and I shall speak once again about the battalions and what aid Sreng can lend. But for now- Felix. Show Heir Gautier to his rooms. I think it might be best for you two to get to know each other. For the rest of your men, I will have servants to guide them.”

“Of course. I’m honored to meet my betrothed.” Sylvain dips his head in the first respectful gesture Felix has seen. That doesn’t make too much of an impact, though. Felix is busy thinking of his father’s words. This, he decides, is his punishment for arriving _after_ the Sreng delegation did. 

Felix turns and exits. He does not care if Sylvain is following him. 

He is, though. And when they are out of earshot of the hall, Sylvain speaks up, voice returning to the low rhythm it had in the horse stalls. “So, _stableboy_. Are you planning to lead me? Or perhaps, you’ll give me the privilege of getting lost. I think there should be a few interesting things to explore here. You most of all- but we’ll have the chance for that soon enough.” 

The noise of his teeth grinding distracts him from a response. For a moment. Felix wheels around, hands on his hips, “Sylvain, is it? I did happen to overhear your name while returning my horse. I understand I’ll be ‘tying you down.’ I don’t think I’ll need to explore much in return- you don’t have any depth, do you?”

“Ou-ch. Little kitten’s got claws, doesn’t he? Be careful, though. You might end up getting your teeth into more than you can handle.” Sylvain steps closer, and he’s got that same odd expression Felix had seen when he was mentioning his father. “This alliance is something you all need much more than us- Sreng has no place in your religious conflicts. We follow one god, and that is the one of blood and war. My family has united the many warring tribes under our banner- I don’t think Faerghus can take another strong attack from yet another side.”

Sylvain’s close enough that he can touch him now. He does, poking Felix sharply in the side. ”So, Felix, is it?” Felix cannot stand him. “We’ll be married. Don’t protest too much, now. You’re a handsome man, and strong too, if the way you blocked my lance was any sign. I can really admire that. I’d love to see you fight sometime.” 

“We will spar together,” Felix announces. He does not think on Sylvain’s earlier words. Rodrigue’s motivations and manipulations are something he is part of, now. He is the one who has to live with it. Instead, Felix thinks of the potential of a good sparring partner. He might be able to stand the arrangement slightly more. Unbidden, Sylvain’s words about him in bed come back to him- and once again, his gut clenches. 

“Of course,” Sylvain says easily, smiling. There is a warmth in his eyes now, but if anything that sends Felix’s guard higher. “I’d like to see what sort of things you can do.” He sounds like is honestly excited for that, and Felix isn’t sure what to think. Was this man not complaining about being married only an hour ago? 

“I will fight against the Adrestian Empire,” Felix says stiffly, “It is best that you don’t get in the way of that. A sparring match should show you exactly what that means.”

“Alright, alright,” Sylvain agrees, stopping as Felix does, the door to the rooms arranged for the Gautier Heir before him. “But kitten, let’s make a deal. If I win, you’ll be answering some questions. Like I said, I’d love to get to know you better.” 

Sylvain leers at him. Felix resists the urge to smack the expression off of his face. “And if I win- After our marriage, I will take my own path against the Empire.” 

The redhead has the gall to laugh at him, and Felix can catch a glimpse of some odd expression before it’s gone, covered by Sylvain’s casual grin. “Sure, sure,” he says, “You really don’t- You know what? Never mind. I’ll take the bet. Tomorrow evening, then. There’s still some ‘wedding planning’ I’ve got to work out with your father.”

“Tomorrow evening. These are your rooms. Someone will get you for dinner.” There’s probably more he should say, but if Rodrigue had wanted to impress Sylvain with hospitality, he would have chosen someone else. 

Felix turns and leaves without a second glance.


	2. Chapter 2

At his household’s training arena, Felix prepares for the spar. Sylvain’s not a normal opponent. He’s not there to coddle him, or, to teach him- before this, Sylvain had been an enemy. The idea of fighting someone who will not hold back is thrilling. The professor, Shamir, even Catherine- they all had responsibilities towards him, something to moderate their actions. With Sylvain, there is none of that. 

The warrior clans of Sreng are vicious and brutal. Felix wants to test his strength. The training sword is a good weight in his hand, and he’s already warmed up. 

There is no use for happiness, not in this time. But Felix might as well claw some sort of enjoyment in this wretched situation. And if that means fighting with his soon to be husband, so be it. Sylvain is a lance user if their time in the stables was in any indication. Felix had never been too interested in learning other’s techniques. He focused on himself and getting stronger and improving his own style. He may not have had an interest in learning, but he does want to see it. And counter it.

Felix has gone through a training dummy when Sylvain arrives. The redhead is underdressed for a spar, all cloth without a scrap of protective gear on him. Good, because Felix does the same. The one major difference is the weapon. There is a brutal looking thing in Sylvain’s hands, a twisted bastardization of a lance. It glows a low red, and the spines coming down from the blade move. 

It’s a crest relic, Felix realizes. He himself carries the Aegis shield, though it is not on him.  
No wonder Gautier had succeeded in uniting the clans in Sreng. 

“You’re missing a training weapon,” Felix calls out where a greeting should be.  
Sylvain stops in front of him, leaning against the lance. He’s got an expression Felix very much does not like. The sword and lance, he recalls, are a bad matchup. That might be true for others, but not Felix. “Nah,” Sylvain says, a smile on his face, “I think you’re the one who’s missing something, kitten. Why spar if there’s not a threat to it? We’ll avoid killing blows, sure, but why play around? We’re training for a war. It’s going to hurt.” 

Felix doesn’t reply. His answer comes in the form of exchanging his dull sword for one made of silver, edge proud and sharp. It’s a fine weapon- and even then, he’s not sure if it will hold up to the twisted lance. He’s going to have to avoid those spikes too. Annoying. 

He’d almost be tempted to get the shield, but that would show far more weakness than Felix is willing to admit to. He knows what this Sreng warrior thinks of him. Kitten. He scowls. He’ll relish beating Sylvain bloody. 

They meet in the center of the training arena. “No killing blows. And- I’ll play nice. No severing of limbs. First to admit defeat loses.”

Felix and Sylvain move at the same time. He’s fought lance users before, but even with that, Sylvain moves unusually fast. 

Wasn’t this asshole supposed to be cavalry? 

Sylvain’s range makes him a less than ideal opponent, his reach with the lance much longer than Felix’s own with a sword. Apart from his first slash, he hasn’t gotten close enough for a hit. Sylvain jabs, Felix parries.

His sword rings, and he can feel the force of Sylvain’s blow through his bones. And that had just been the first. Felix does not like to fight on the defensive, it goes against his own personal style, and it’s an obvious weakness Sylvain recognizes and takes advantage of. Felix parries again. And again. 

The next strikes comes down, brutal and heavy, and Felix’s guard breaks. He moves back, letting his body fall and then catching himself on his back foot. The lance swipes down, down, splitting into the ground where his face had been just once before. 

“Oops,” Sylvain says, like he hadn’t just tried to cut Felix in half. 

Felix feels a feral sort of grimace on his face, and his body burns with adrenaline. The pace of the fight increases, and with it, so does Felix’s strength. It feels good, the way his body burns. When he gets his first cut against Sylvain, dragging the other’s lance high and then striking in to his chest, there’s a warm sense of pride.

But he doesn’t ever get close enough to do real damage- the fight continues, and Felix is realizing Sylvain’s enjoying it whenever Felix gets a hit in, because the pleasure on his face is stupidly obvious. 

It’s a different lance wielding style than he’s used to- it reminds him of dimi-the prince’s, because there’s so much risk to the wielder in it, but there’s a wild sort of grace that Sylvain has that the prince had lacked. 

They’re both getting tired, and Felix knows something will give soon. 

What he doesn’t expect is this: Sylvain feints with a downward strike, but when the lance breaks ground he uses the momentum and _vaults_ himself forward, pulling the lance around with him and swiping in a quarter-moon. Felix had already taken advantage of what he’d thought had been a simple feint- he’s quick with the sword, but not quick enough. The blade of the lance misses him, but the flat of the handle hits the backs of his knees, hard, and he buckles forward. 

He feels Sylvain looming over him, and Felix knows he’s lost. He spits on the ground in front of him. Sylvain’s a good fight- but he hadn’t wanted to lose. “Again,” he says, and he attempts to stand, but the blade of Sylvain’s lance stops him. 

“Nah,” Sylvain answers, “You lost.” Felix wishes he could spit in his face. The redhead moves off of him, but before Felix can roll over and strike out with his sword, Sylvain’s already got a foot on it. “Uh-uh. I know you’re thinking about it. I know your type. I’ve fought many like you. You’ve got pride, I bet. Losing doesn’t suit you.”

It’s not that, Felix thinks, and he’s satisfied to know Sylvain’s wrong- it’s that they’d had a bargain on this. And if he’s not able to fight, not able to protect anyone- what good is he? 

‘Hope he’s good in bed’. The thought flashes in his mind, and he shudders. He’d forgotten,  
fighting Sylvain. Forgotten just what kind of person this man was. 

“So, remember our little deal? I’ve got some questions for you. You can stop staring at my boot too, you know.” Felix stubbornly stares at Sylvain’s kneecap, instead. “Aww, you listen.” 

Felix is going to impale himself on the lance, but it’ll be worth it to punch him. Sylvain’s far too balanced to knock over- but he jerks up anyway - good, the lance isn’t above him anymore- and uppercuts the redhead across the chin. 

It’s not as strong as he would have liked, but goddess, does it feel good. 

Felix watches as Sylvain touches the blood running from his split lip. He grins around it, and Felix is a little startled to realize how different the expression looks than his previous smiles- this one’s a little crooked, a little wild, though it disappears as Sylvain spits the blood out of his mouth. 

“Alright, listen here, _Felix_,” the name feeling like a threat, “We’re going to be married. I didn’t intend for you to just sit on the sidelines, you know. It’s a marriage and a joining of your house to my nation. There is an opportunity for us to be partners, here, if you can handle that. But if you’re just going to hit me and ignore me- I’ll tie you to the back of my horse and drag you to where you need to be. Or maybe that’s still too kind. I’ll let you walk, then.” 

“Like I’d let you do that,” Felix snarls back, because like hell he’s going to just let this man do anything to him- As if just by marrying him, he’s given this man some sort of control over him. Except, isn’t that what his father has signed him up for? 

It’s Felix’s body for the stability of the region. For what Dimitri has left behind, in some vain hope that the prince is still alive. The thought that if he holds Faerghus together long enough, he’ll have a prince to return it to. 

Blind loyalty, even to someone dead.

Sylvain has an odd expression on his face, and it’s like disgust, but not quite there. “You keep talking like I _want_ this- its-” He shakes it off, and a smirk covers anything Felix can tell of feelings. “Okay, so tell me then, how you want it to be?”

Felix hadn’t been prepared to get this far, “I don’t want to be married at all. I’d prefer if we kept our relationship casual. It would be best if we could have a ceremony and never see each other again.”

“And now, I’m going to tell you how it’s going to be. You see, kitten, you’re Duke Rodrigue’s only son- With your prince dead, this makes you _very_ important.” 

“Why don’t you shut up if you have nothing important to say. I understand all of this.”

“Do you? Because to me, it really, really seems like you don’t. If this Faerghus Dukedom wins this fight against your family, your pretty titles all mean nothing. We’d continue raiding your lands, because to us, it doesn’t matter what family owns them. Sure, we might have to face against the Dukedom eventually, but what’s the difference between you and them? Now, Rodrigue’s being very clever here- he’s trying to tie my father’s interests to your own. Because if somehow, we manage to win against the Dukedom- your family will be in line to rule, and a lot more of your land will belong to us. And my father is a very greedy man.” 

Felix has to bite his tongue through this, because he knows all of this. He knows how desperate their fight is, how much of a lost cause it is with merely his father and the lords under him. 

“You see what I’m getting at? Your marriage to me is a guarantee of Rodrigue’s word. You’re a little bit of a hostage, here. Though no one will ever say something so impolite. Tying you to me will keep Rodrigue honest, and me to you will hold my father’s support. You need to stay by my side. We’ve got a little house of cards, here. So kitten, don’t knock it down?” 

Sylvain cups Felix’s face with his bloodied hand, and though Felix grabs his wrist, he’s forced to meet the other’s eyes. “I’m good at loving what I hate. You’ll need to do the same.” 

Before Felix can punch him once again, Sylvain’s walking away. 

There’s only two more days until the wedding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in the next chapter : marriage
> 
> if i dont write a gratuitous fighting scene in my sylvix. whats even the point.

**Author's Note:**

> i saw the words 'arranged marriage' and 'enemies to lovers' and went absolutely feral.  
ive spent too much time thinking about this. and what sreng would be like. and marriage traditions. and sylvains life in sreng in general.  
send help. 
> 
> find me @ https://twitter.com/neonsprite


End file.
